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“The Neighbors” by Carol Commons-Brosowske

This story appears in the adult bedtime book “Not Your Mother’s Book…On SEX.”

Have you ever wanted to unmeet someone?

Davis and Sue lived behind us for more than 20 years. We were never what I’d call best friends although we enjoyed chatting and being with them at neighborhood gatherings. They were a nice, friendly couple. Since we saw them frequently—either working in the yard or driving past—we would swap stories on occasion about our families and juicy neighborhood gossip. And we were always there for one another if we needed to borrow a cup of sugar or milk. It was a good relationship all the way around.

I recall the day I told Sue we were expecting our first grandchild. While I was unloading groceries from my car, Sue pulled into her driveway. We waved and began exchanging a few words. She seemed genuinely excited about me being a first-time grandmother. “I was just going to take our port-a-crib to the resale shop. Would you like it instead?”

I jumped at the chance of getting a crib for free and walked to her car. A self-admitted cheapskate, I was always on the hunt for bargains. I’m especially happy to accept free items any day of the week!

Sue gathered up her purse then said, “Go on into my house and take a look. It’s right beside the kitchen counter.” I opened up the door and walked in, with Sue right behind me. Their house was an open-concept style, so the minute you walked into the back door, you were in the kitchen facing the family room.

As I took a few steps inside the house, I saw Davis in his recliner in the family room. The chair sat at an angle in the corner. Just as I was about to call out a friendly greeting, I noticed he was, shall I say, “preoccupied.”

There he sat, naked as a jaybird! He was wearing headphones and was having the time of his life. His chair rocked back and forth and wiggled from side to side all at the same time. His arm was flailing up and down faster than a speeding bullet. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was masturbating. Because of the headphones, Davis hadn’t a clue that his wife and neighbor were watching.

With his eyes rolled back into his head as his pleasure spewed out right in front of us, he didn’t hear Sue screaming, “Davis, what in the hell are you doing?!”

All I could think of was to get the hell out of a most precarious sticky situation. I simply said, “I’ll get the crib another time. I really need to finish unloading my car.” Head down, I whirled around and after several attempts at trying to get the doorknob to turn, I made my escape, running as fast as my 61-year-old legs could go. The last thing I saw was Sue standing there wide-eyed and thunderstruck. I’d never known that a person could turn white as a sheet and red as a beet all at the same time, but that’s exactly what she did.

Back on my own turf, I bolted into the house screeching for my husband. “Oh! My! Gosh! You’re never going to believe what just happened!” I explained what I’d witnessed, and he laughed so hard I thought he might fall on his face. I must admit that I’ve giggled more than once thinking about that spectacle.

As humiliated as I’m sure they both were, I did feel much empathy for poor Sue. Mercy, how embarrassed she must have been. I can only imagine what took place between them after I abruptly left. I’d have given a million bucks to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation.

Since that day, things have never been quite the same between us. Simple nods and waves are all that remain. I ended up buying my own crib, and I will now go to the store looking like death warmed over for any emergency items rather than borrowing anything from them. I fear I could end up seeing something much worse should I dare to darken their door again.

Will I ever be able to get that vision out of my head? I seriously doubt it. I often wonder what I’d have done if the roles had been reversed. My answer is always the same. I would have moved clear across town, hoping never to run into either of them again. If, for some reason, I ever do encounter Davis up close, I’ll be polite. But if he expects a handshake, it just ain’t gonna happen, come hell or high water.

Carol Commons-Brosowske is a weekly columnist for Frank Talk Magazine. She has stories published in Not Your Mother’s Book, Chicken Soup for the Soul and several journals. Her home and heart are in Texas, which she shares with her husband of 40 years. They have three children and one grandchild, with the second grandchild on the way!

Again, this story appears in “Not Your Mother’s Book…On SEX.” Coined by the Northern Star in their review as the “compilation of copulation” (http://bit.ly/1b3iTfe), this book is filled with 69—yes, 69—carnal stories about everything SEX!